Legends of Midgard
by Falara Hughes
Summary: A collection of stories based on the people and characters I've known from playing Ragnarok Online. Updated sporadically as stories come to me. Stories are arranged in a timeline as best they can be.
1. Story Summaries

**Brightly Lit Stranger**  
As a swordswoman training near Payon, Summery finds herself in the presence of a GM! But characters don't know what GMs are, and he's certainly not telling.

**Looters Never Prosper**  
Summery's a Crusader now, and a doubtful one at that. But at least she does her best, especially when it comes to teaching thieves a valuable lesson.

**Odin: Hero of Legend**  
A Crusader named Odin existed long ago, and this is a story of how he defeated Garm.

**The Happy Mask of the ShadowNinja**  
The Merchant, Herzel, has made a fortune from buying cheap and selling big. Now, an item he acquires cheap will cost him big.

**The Price of Forbidden Love**  
How do Assassins handle love? Surely they are trained against such things, for an Assassin with a heart is not allowed to exist. Assassins do love, but not in a manner such as you or I. When they love, it is dangerous for all involved, including themselves.


	2. Brightly Lit Stranger

During her time as a trainee in the Swordsmen ranks, Summery had a very interesting encounter. This happened on a day when the sun seemed unusually bright in the unusually cloudless sky. Her trials as a Swordswoman brought her to the outskirts of Payon, and after a brief rest period within its woodsy walls, she ventured southeast to train herself.  
  
A large flat of land rested in the midst of mountainous woods, and from below it, Summery caught a glimpse of something rather odd. A strange, glowing figure was perched near the back of the flat. Summery peered at it as much as she could without hurting her eyes. Then, she went around to find a way up to see who the figure was.  
  
"Hello," the young woman called as she came close to where she had seen the light. By this time the light had died down some but it was still quite apparent. It was the aura of a young but sturdy-looking figure who sat quietly amongst the grass. He watched the Bigfoots stumble by and on occasion, waved his hand at one, killing it without so much as touching. Summery was amazed at this feat but in no way deterred from further investigation.  
  
"That was some trick," she said as she continued to approach him. The stranger stared at her blankly, then his blank expression gave way to a small smile.  
  
"It's something I can do," he said, and his voice echoed reverently. Summery took his neutral composure as an invite and found a soft spot in the grass near him to sit down. She had such an innocent mind that she always thought everyone was friendly until they showed themselves otherwise.  
  
"What are you doing way out here," she asked him.  
  
"Taking a break," he replied. "I've done so much, I just thought I could use the time off."  
  
"Oh. Well, time off is always good." Summery reached into her hip bag and retrieved a small, green container. "I should probably take a break for now, too," she said as she poured a series of multicolored dots into her left hand. After the container was set in her lap she put the whole handful of dots in her mouth and ate them contentedly, her face puckering but a smile remaining. The stranger watched her with a wierded-out expression.  
  
"What... are those," he asked, and seemed slightly repulsed.  
  
Summery smacked her lips a few times, giggled, then replied. "Skittles! Sour Skittles, to be exact."  
  
"I've... never heard of Skittles," the stranger said. "What are they?"  
  
"Candy that tastes like fruit," Summery replied, then giggled again. "The Sour kind are rolled around in sour crystals, to give it that extra zip!" She held out the container in his direction. "Try some!"  
  
"..." He stared at the container as if it were poisonous, then simply held up one hand. "No thanks. Though I'm sure they're quite delicious." Smiling, the stranger put that same hand behind his back. "Do you know what sour thing _I_ like to eat?"  
  
Summery put more Skittles in her mouth and chewed them while she waited for his answer. With a smile almost as big as his face, the stranger pulled a bag with a potato symbol from behind his back.  
  
"Chips! Sour chips are _delicious_," he declared, then proceeded to rip the bag open, and began shoveling chips into his mouth. The two of them looked very amusing together--the stranger scarfing down chips, and Summery chewing on Sour Skittles. They ate and ate until their mouths were sore from eating sour treats, then sat back and laughed at each other for having puckered faces.  
  
Once their laughter died down, they sat quietly and watched the creatures of Payon Forest wander around them. When silence became too much, Summery decided to ask a question.  
  
"So, what are you taking a break from?"  
  
The stranger smirked and looked down at his aura. "Well, you might say that I keep this world running smoothly. I fix what gets broken, restore that which needs to be... Add that which we don't have."  
  
Summery blinked big eyes at his response. "Really? Like what?"  
  
He looked up at the sky and thought for a moment, then looked to her with a smile. "Like... this." Suddenly the sun dropped from the sky and the moon took its place as day went to night. Summery was startled by the sudden darkness and shrieked--fortunately, the stranger's aura was bright enough to keep them both illuminated.  
  
"You... you.... you made it night!" Summery stared at him with even bigger eyes. The stranger rose to his feet and raised his arms to the sky. When he spoke this time his voice carried across all of Midgard, reaching the ears of every human and creature wether awake or asleep.  
  
"In the beginning, there was darkness! Then TonyMan said, 'Let there be light!'"  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"... I said, 'Let there be light!'"  
  
Nothing still.  
  
The stranger seemed quite perplexed. He rubbed his spiky hair, scritched his temple, then knelt down and began sifting through patches of dirt where footfalls had killed the grass. By rubbing one patch he uncovered a light switch laying flat on the ground. "Ah, there we go," he declared, then rose to his feet to shout again.  
  
"LET THERE BE LIGHT!"  
  
Once he kicked the light switch, the stars and moon slid out of the sky, giving way to the sun as the beautiful blue of overhead daylight replaced the black of night. The stranger felt quite triumphant, while poor Summery felt quite dumbfounded as to how all this came to be.  
  
"You just... you just..." She stuttered, unable to find words to describe what she just saw. When she looked down to find the light switch that he kicked, it was no longer there.  
  
"How did you do that," Summery asked as she flailed her arms.  
  
"It's what I do," the stranger replied with a casual shrug, then sat down once again amongst the soft grass. While he resumed staring at the wildlife, Summery continued staring at him. Eventually she tore her gaze away to watch a Dokebi dance around a pair of Eggyras.  
  
"Well, I can see how you'd need a vacation from something like that," she commented after a while. "If that's the least of what you do, you must do a lot of great things."  
  
"You mean like being taken for granted?" The stranger's laugh echoed across the forest. "Oh, it's nothing serious. I do what I love. Just like I'm sure you do."  
  
Summery smiled at him. "Of course I do! I'm training to be a Crusader. You don't get to be a Crusader unless you really love it."  
  
"Indeed." He put a hand to his own mouth as he yawned big. "Mmm! Getting sleepy. But I've still a few things to do before I rest."  
  
"Try this," Summery said as she reached into her hip bag, then held out a small canteen. The stranger took the canteen, sniffed its contents, then leaned back and poured it all in his mouth. It was coffee, pure and simple, and it was just the kick he needed to wake himself up.  
  
"Delicious," he declared, then gave the canteen back to her. "That hit the spot! Thank you very much."  
  
"No trouble at all," Summery said with a smile, though she knew this meant she would have to head back to Payon sooner than she wanted to. Coffee was keeping her training sessions lengthy and without it, she'd have to rest before she wanted to as well.  
  
After a brief stretch, the stranger rose to his feet once more. "Well, it's back to work for me. Thanks again for the pick-me-up."  
  
"No problem," Summery chimed, rising to her feet after him. "I should probably get back to work as well. You don't become a Crusader by watching the wildlife go by."  
  
The stranger put a finger to his chin as he examined her. "Tell me, what are you using in the way of training equipment?"  
  
She looked perplexed, but showed him anyway. She held up a small training sword that had barely a blade to it, and a round, tin shield that looked ready to break. "Just this. It's not much, but it's all I could afford."  
  
"I see...." With the same finger that he touched his chin, the stranger touched the tip of Summery's blade. A sparkling light surrounded the blade and grew the training sword into a more formidable weapon. The light then flew to the shield and reshaped it, making it larger and look like new. Summery looked her shield over several times and gave her new sword a few practice swings before declaring, "Oh wow, thanks!"  
  
The stranger smirked as he brought a finger to his lips. "Tell no one," he said, then his own aura engulfed him like a giant flame, and that flame dissipated in the wind, taking his form with it.  
  
Summery stared long after the stranger was gone. She knew she would never forget him.


	3. Looters Never Prosper

**Looters Never Prosper**

Summery was in no way the top of the Crusader class, but she was decent enough. If not for there being so few in the land, she probably wouldn't have cleared the rite of passage. Still, she did her best and became well known for it.

During a visit to Izlude, she was invited to join a small hunting party to the depths of the Bibilan, where they sought to collect Mermaid's Hearts and Squid Ink to sell in the marketplace.

"That's _disgusting_," Summery protested.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from a Crusader," said Gentris, a spear-wielding Knight.

"People pay big zeny for Mermaid Hearts," added Canon, an Acolyte from Prontera. "Especially on the islands. They're considered an aphrodisiac."

"That doesn't make it any better," Summery said, her face turning blue. "And what's the Squid Ink for? A suppository?"

Gentris brought a hand up to cover his face. "Ugh. Look, do you want in or not? We'll be down there for a few days, killing whatever comes our way, then we'll sell their parts and split the zeny we acquire. And I overheard you saying in the bar that you were on your last zen, so I _thought_ you might want the opportunity!"

After a bit more convincing, Summery swallowed her disgust and joined them on the boat to the skull-shaped island known as the Bibilan. The island itself was rich with foliage but on the surface it was completely void of life. Not a single bird, lizard or mammal could be found, though there were plenty small insects to annoy the trio as they journeyed to the island's center. There, a cave entrance awaited them. Summery allowed Canon to ride behind her on her Grand Peco while she followed behind Gentris, who rode his Peco Peco. Both birds made their way swiftly through the spiraling caverns of the Bibilan, slowing only when they needed to tread through hip-deep water.

Obeaunes often wandered the surface of the underground lake at the bottom of the Bibilan, and they were the chosen target of three adventurers. They gave off the illusion of being voluptuous mermaids but they were vicious monsters just like everything else there. As soon as the two Pecos came down the steps to the surface of the lake, five Obeaunes dragged themselves out of the water and hissed in their direction.

"Oh yeah, this is what I came for," Gentris said as he brandished his spear. The first Obeaune that came his way was trampled underfoot by his Peco while he launched his spear at one making a leap for his side. Not soon after the Obeaune was impaled, the Knight rode over to retrieve his spear and charge back into the fray.

"Here," Summery said as she slid off her Grand Peco and held its reigns out to Canon. "Just stay on Autumnal, he won't go anywhere, and he'll protect you!"

Canon took the reigns and tucked them under his arm, then cast blessings on the Knight and the Crusader. He kept watch over them as they took on the vicious mermaids, and swung his mace at the head and hand of any Obeaune that reached for him.

One Obeaune blew on a conch shell, then more surfaced as the first five were defeated. They came in waves but Summery and Gentris held their ground. Summery threw her shield like a boomerang to cut down three at a time and it returned to her just in time to block a tackle attempt from one Obeaune. Gentris bashed into one and sent it careening into a group of four others, knocking all five of them back into the lake. Meanwhile, Canon showered both of them with healing rays whenever they needed it. This ordeal went on for what seemed like hours before the Obeaunes stopped their assault.

"Ew, ew, ew...." Beneath her Iron Cain, Summery crinkled her nose while Gentris demonstrated how to extract the heart of an Obeaune.

"I can't believe you call yourself a Crusader," the Knight commented as he dug into an Obeaune's chest. A quick jab with the tip of his spear and the heart came out easily, oozing with blood and other fluids. Without the slightest bit of shock, Canon took the heart and tossed it in a large satchel. Summery pulled off her helmet and rushed to the edge of the water to throw up.

"You cut down monsters everyday, and yet you're grossed out at the thought of having to gut one for parts?" Gentris chuffed. "You'd never make it in a true holy war."

"I do my best," Summery coughed, then sat next to the water's edge. Her face was pale and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She had only recently become a Crusader--how could they expect her to be a hardened defender of the divine so quickly? Gentris and Canon continued their work on the Obeaunes while Summery opted to make camp and dinner. After a short rest, they planned to hunt Marse for their ink.

* * *

The Marse were much easier to take down than the Obeaunes, although their stingers packed more of a punch than an Obeaune's tentacle-like hair. The Marse were not naturally aggressive and they knew no loyalties, so one would never come to the aid of the other if it were being attacked. Summery and Gentris each picked off the Marse one at a time, then used small vials to collect a certain amount of ink from their corpses. Canon collected the full vials and took care of the healing when necessary.

"What a haul," Gentris cheered as he dropped the last vial in his satchel. "Looks like I'll be able to buy that new set of armor after all."

"And a hot bath," Summery said as she wiped dirt from her face. "Maybe I'll get Autumnal a professional grooming, too!"

Canon had a dark look in his eye when he grinned in their direction. "I'll see to it that both Pecos get the best of grooming care before I sell them."

As the Knight and the Crusader turned to question his meaning, two Spirit Spheres launched forward and knocked them off their feet. Five more were summoned to rotate around Canon's head while he laughed cruelly at his bewildered travel companions.

"How the Hell did you do that," Gentris shouted as he clambered to his feet. "You're just an Acolyte!"

Once again Canon laughed, then pulled the Acolyte robe from his body to reveal his Monk uniform. "I haven't been an Acolyte for years, you stupid spear-wielder," he said.

Summery was so confused. "You're a Monk? But... but why would you pretend to be an Acolyte?"

Canon shrugged innocently. "For kicks, maybe? Now, I'm gonna take what you two soldier dogs have worked hard to achieve and sell it for personal profit." He raised his arms, then snapped into a fighting stance. "I'm hoping you put up some kind of struggle, 'cause I like to be entertained."

Summery just couldn't wrap her mind around this situation. "But... you're a Monk! Monks aren't supposed to do stuff like this..."

"Looks like he's doing it all right," Gentris sneered, then summoned the will to Endure. His training in spear use was no good while dismounted, and Canon stood between him and his Peco Peco. The Knight charged forward with the hopes of being able to withstand any attack and reach his mount, but the Monk knew what he had planned. As soon as Gentris came close enough, Canon latched onto one of his arms, swung him around once and threw him back the way he came.

Dumbfounded, Summery watched as Gentris fought a losing battle against Canon in an effort to reach his ride. "You're a Monk, you can't do this sort of thing," she blubbered.

"Wake UP, you idiot," Gentris called as Canon put him in a headlock. "Whatever it is you think he can't do, he's doing it pretty well, I'd say!"

"I am, aren't I," Canon commented, then kicked Gentris to the ground. A quick kick sent the Knight tumbling towards a trio of Hydras who eagerly wrapped their tentacles around him. He struggled to break free, but was already weak from the fight with the Monk.

"This is too easy," Canon said aloud as he secured the satchel of Squid Ink to the Grand Peco's saddle. "Well, I don't think I'll get much of a challenge out of some girly Crusader wannabe, so I'll just take the loot and go now."

"But you're a Monk...." Summery's bottom lip trembled as the reality of the situation finally hit her: A Monk, a lonely aesthetic, a fellow protector of the divine order, was using his holy training for wrongdoing! Tears welled up in her eyes at the very thought of such blasphemy, but she quickly blinked them away as her gauntlets tightened into well-formed fists.

Canon laughed at her while he secured the Peco Peco's reigns to the Grand Peco. "Hey, I tried all that patience, meditation and serving the church crap, but it just didn't work out for me. Turns out, they don't give you a cut of the collection plate each Sunday, and all that bread and water they have you living on just doesn't buy itself, now does it? Gentris was right, though. You'd never make it in a holy war." He laughed again and leaped onto the Grand Peco's saddle. "You'd never be able to tell the goodguys from the bad!"

"Autumnal, you have fleas!"

At that sudden declaration from the Crusader, the Grand Peco flew into a fit of furious shaking, flailing and pecking at its own body. Canon could barely keep hold of the reigns as the bird bucked and danced to try and clean itself. As it rushed backwards to slam into a nearby rock wall, the Monk leaped from its back to avoid the crushing blow--that's when Summery acted. Her shield flew quick and slammed right into the side of Canon's head, dropping him to the ground like a brick. She was already standing overtop of him when he pulled himself to his knees and proceeded to beat him over the head with her shield until he was dizzy.

"How DARE you use the gifts of the church for your misdeeds," Summery yelled as she picked him up by the hood of his coat. When Canon regained his wits, he slipped out of the garment and hopped backwards to put some distance between them.

"So you've got some grit after all," he said with a smirk. "Well that's pretty good, except I can heal myself and you can't. Which means I could make this fight last a long, long time."

"Well then I hope your mantra's well rested," Summery said as she picked up a conch shell, "because you're going to need every ounce of it!" She blew on the shell for as long as one breath would allow her to, creating a deep call that rang out across the cavern. The lake surface rippled as dozens of Obeaunes came up to answer the call, advancing on the Knight, the Crusader and the Monk.

Canon's eyes widened as Obeaunes swarmed the area. "Are you INSANE? We'll all be massacred!"

"You get what you deserve," Summery cried, then rushed to clear the Hydras from Gentris. He was badly injured by still alive. She spread him out on the ground, then whistled for her Grand Peco. The Knight's Peco Peco was easily pulled along by the larger bird and once they were close enough, Summery hefted the Knight up and stretched him over the back of his mount. The Obeaunes were almost to her but she paid them no attention as she dug into her own satchel for a pair of Butterfly Wings. Before she used the wings, she looked in Canon's direction to see what was happening to him. The Monk was holding his own well enough but the Obeaunes came in continuous droves that would soon overwhelm him. With a sad sigh, the Crusader let the wings fly from her hand and they created two circles of light that engulfed her, Gentris, and their Pecos.

* * *

When Gentris awoke, he was laying in a very comfortable inn bed. The room he was in seemed quite spacious as well--it had to have been the most expensive room there. Across the room, Summery sat in a windowsill admiring the view. All of her armor was arranged neatly on another bed in the same room and she wore a simple peasant's dress.

Summery smiled cheerfully when she noticed that the Knight was awake. "Feeling better? I'm no healer, but I did dress your wounds as best I could."

Gentris felt parts of his face where bandages had been placed over cuts and bruises. "You... saved me," he asked in a tired tone.

She shrugged her shoulders honestly. "Well, like I said, I'm no healer. I thought of hiring one to help, but I already used a lot of my share to buy this room, and some good food, and stable time for both our mounts. And I didn't want to take anything out of your share without your permission, so..." She motioned to the satchel of zeny that sat on a trunk next to his armor. Gentris stared at the satchel and his uniform, then leaned his head back and laughed.

"What's so funny," Summery asked with a touch of concern. Had a slight concussion made him crazy?

"You really had me going there, Crusader," the Knight replied, then sat up in his bed. "Here I thought you were just some ditsy dame in a Crusader costume, but you really came through when it mattered." He frowned as he looked down at his bandaged hands. "I guess it was Canon who was really wearing the costume. Too bad. I was looking for a good Acolyte to wander the world with me for a while."

Summery stared out the windows once again, this time looking in the direction of the distant Bibilan Island. She had thought about going back for Canon, but she knew he wasn't worth the trip. "I'm sure you'll find someone," she said as she turned a cheerful expression towards Gentris again. "Anyway, the room is rented for the next few days, so you'll have plenty of time to rest here. I'm going to stock up on supplies, then leave Izlude this afternoon."

"Oh." Gentris felt guilty over having thought so little of Summery before. Now that she had saved him and proven herself worthy of the Crusader title, he felt that he owed her something. "Well, if you're ever in Izlude again, or somewhere near Prontera, just look me up, okay? Maybe we could go harvest more Mermaid's Hearts sometime?"

Summery shuddered at the thought. "Are you kidding? That's completely disgusting!" She smiled. "And besides. There are far better animal parts you can hunt for with far less blood and ooze to worry about. When you decide to hunt one of them, look me up. Until then, it was fun, Gentris, but I really have better things to do with my time."

The Knight sat dumbfounded as Summery gathered her things and left the inn. She may have been a ditz, but she still made a pretty decent Crusader.


	4. Odin: Hero of Legend

**Odin: Hero of Legend**

Few people know these stories of Odin. Fewer still ever knew that he was a real man. But I tell you these stories not to prove that he was once a man among us. I tell you them to keep him among us, in our hearts and in our minds.

Long ago, a child was left in the graveyard of Prontera's Cathedral. As he cried, lightning flashed in the sky, and as his eyes gathered tears, rain fell from the heavens above. The Bishop who ran the Cathedral took the child in, and that child grew to be Odin: one of the greatest Crusaders to ever grace the plane of Midgaard. He was strong and independent. He so mastered the Crusader's path, that schools were opened in the hopes of training other Swordsmen to be as valiant as he was. He became a legend, and as his legend spread, many came from far and wide to either seek his aid or challenge him in combat. Odin quickly grew weary of being in the eyes of others, and so he retreated to an old abbey that had been long forgotten by Priest and Monk alike. After he purged the abbey of its most bitter spirits, he sent for Nuns, Priests and Monks to maintain its upkeep. That abbey he called home from then on, but continued to venture out into the world to do his duty of vanquishing evil.

As the sun rose on yet another day in Odin's life, he received a letter from Prontera's Cathedral requesting his presence at once. Odin wasn't one to refuse those who had shown him kindness in the past, so he saddled Sleipnir, his Grand Peco, and took off for the city immediately. Nearing its walls, he noticed a strange occurrence. All of Prontera was being covered by a light snowfall! He sensed no evil about, so he knew it could not have been the work of dark forces. Still, he ventured within the city walls and to the Cathedral to answer his summons.

Father Mareusis, who was in charge of the Cathedral at the time, greeted Odin at the front door. "Come in, come in my son! It's so good to see you! How long has it been? Not long enough, obviously. You look not as though you have aged!"

One of the many mysteries about Odin _was_ his age, for no matter how the years passed, his form remained timeless in its appearance. It seemed that on the day he became a man, time took its hands off of him.

"Whate'er the blessing, I am grateful for it," was his humble reply. He left his mount in the hands of an alter boy, then respectfully removed his helmet as he entered the Cathedral walls. The interior of the church seemed more frigid than the exterior, with ice and snow decorating its walls all over. The parishioners and Acolytes who wandered the church's halls kept themselves well bundled, and every fireplace had been stoked to blazing. This was indeed a curious phenomenon to the mighty Odin, so he questioned Father Mareusis as they moved towards the inner sanctum.

"Father, what has brought about this strange curse of weather?"

Father Mareusis dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "That will be explained in time," he replied. "For now, I have someone I'd like you to take with you. She is a Priestess, come to us from Lutie. She transferred here looking for work but I'm afraid I have no place for her. You, on the other hand, I'm certain will have room for her in that vast abbey of yours?"

"Another Priest," Odin grumbled, for at the time, he was not very enthused about taking on newcomers to his abbey. He wanted as little company as possible, but kept the Priests that were already there to keep the abbey in fair condition.

"I am not so certain that I have room for _another_ Priest," he replied.

"Surely you could take her with you on your many ventures about the known world," Mareusis asked, almost pleading as he did so. "She has ventured so far, and I am pained to turn her down, but, we really don't have a place for her here. Come, at least meet her before you say no altogether."

"Father," Odin went on, "I support the church in all its ventures, but seldom do I take a Priest with me on my personal crusades. They're so.... fragile, male and female alike. I have not the extra attention to give to one during heinous battle."

His words disappointed Father Mareusis. "My son, I have never heard you underestimate the Priesthood so," the Father told him. "You know as well as I do that Priests are the most suitable travel companions for Crusaders. Especially when one is off laying the undead to rest."

"Beasts are my current prey, not the undead." Odin reached for any excuse his mind could yield, for he truly had no desire to take on another Priest. But, when they reached the open doorway of the inner sanctum, one look within cast all excuses from him. The weather was at its worst within the sanctuary--the pews were hidden by hills of snow! Winds whipped snowflakes about like sheets hung to dry. Odin pierced the storm with his gaze and soon discovered the source of it all, kneeling quietly at the altar rail. There, a Priestess prayed silently, and as she prayed, her hair released bundles of snow into the atmosphere! This was most intriguing to Odin, who moved forward to get a better look at her.

Father Mareusis followed quickly behind him. Trudging through the snow and wind was difficult, but as soon as they stood beside the Priestess, they found themselves clear of the storm altogether. Odin stared in awe, and Father Mareusis cleared his throat politely to gain her attention. The Priestess finished her prayer with a soft Amen, then rose to her feet and gave him her full attention.

The Father introduced them to one another. "Priestess Winter, I would like you to meet Odin, one of our former charges who has risen to greatness in his own time."

The snowstorm settled as the Priestess directed her attention to the Crusader. Her gaze was cool and gentle, and as her eyes met his, a feeling came over Odin of the likes he had never felt before.

"Please, call me Wintery," the Priestess replied. Her voice was quite calming, far more than any other Priestess he had ever met.

"I believe that goes without saying," Odin said with slight amusement. "Although, your winter breeze seems to be affecting Prontera much to its dismay."

The Priestess gazed across the inner sanctum and, for the first time since she had arrived, she noticed the frosty torrent that she had brought with her. She was truly unique, for unlike everyone else in the Cathedral, she remained unbundled and unbothered by the cold climate.

"I apologize, Father," she said as she bowed humbly to Mareusis. "Often times it cannot be helped. The winter weather follows me no matter where I go."

"It is all right, my child," he replied. Father Mareusis was being kind, which was his holy duty, though on the inside, he was feeling quite distressed by the situation. Leaving the Priestess to continue her prayer, he led Odin to his study where they could speak in private. Fortunately for Mareusis, a fire was stoked in his office and he settled close to the fireplace to warm himself up again.

"It is a strange phenomenon," he said, "and it must have been happening to her all her life."

"She is... unique indeed," Odin spoke distantly. His body felt no chill but his mind was frozen with the image of the Priestess gazing at him directly. He knew not the meaning of any feelings unpertaining to his duty as a Crusader, so the feeling that grasped his very soul left him paralyzed with confusion.

"But as you can clearly see," Father Mareusis continued, "we cannot keep her here. Not only do we have the church to think about, but the people of Prontera as well! They're not used to such cold climates! Already, a few cases of pneumonia have arisen that we've had to cure." Then he smiled as he noted, "This woman carries interesting weather with her, much like a certain charge I remember finding in our graveyard when I was but an altar boy."

Odin exchanged knowing glances with the Father, and it was then that he was won over to take on the request. "Very well," he replied. "She may come with me to Saint Capitolina's abbey."

Father Mareusis couldn't have been happier. "Splendid, my son, splendid! I'm sure she will do you a world of good."

Priestess Winter went with Odin and all the weather about Prontera cleared up instantly. The snow followed her to Saint Capitolina's abbey, but by some miracle, it remained quite harmless while she was there. The only sign of it was a light powder that fell from her hair whenever she moved her head, and the occasional nightly snowfall that cleared by morning.

Neither Odin nor Father Mareusis could have fathomed what that arrangement would produce. The Crusader and the Priestess came to care for each other deeply in time. The more Odin got to know Wintery, the more he wanted to be with her, and vice versa, until the two were practically inseparable. They ventured to the very outskirts of Midgard together, meeting challenges and purging the world of evil. Then one day Odin proposed, and Priestess Winter accepted, and they were scheduled to be wed after a few seasons passed.

* * *

Before the wedding, however, a great tragedy would befall the couple. It happened during a rare venture to Priestess Winter's hometown, Lutie. She wanted to invite all her old acquaintances to the wedding, but an old acquaintance of Odin's had other plans for him. Garm was an unforgiving monster with a burning hatred for all servants of the Divine. He especially hated Odin, whose legends managed to reach the cold plain of death and ice that he called home. In the past, Garm challenged Odin many times in hopes of destroying him, but even when he had the means, the Crusader always managed to elude him. Once Odin's scent reached Garm's nostrils, the monster immediately set out for the outskirts of Lutie to do him harm.

But the beast was far from Odin's mind. He and his fiancé were there to be happy. They rode together on the back of Sleipnir but stopped half a mile from Lutie's entrance. A group of Marins, winter-borne Porings, were playing in a nearby bank of snow, and Odin had it in his mind to hunt a few of them.

"What for," Wintery inquired.

"I know for a fact that the Marin drops a special crystal if you kill it the right way," Odin replied. "I want to procure one for you. It will look splendid in your wedding ring."

And so, Wintery sat patiently and waited while Odin took to the Marin dozen. But while he worked and she waited, Garm closed in on their location, his maw dripping with ice cold drool in anticipation of the battle to come. He kept to the trees for an intended surprise assault, only to find himself surprised at what he saw. Odin was nowhere to be found, but Wintery wreaked of his scent. Garm was ready to destroy her for that offense alone--then, he got a good look at her, and saw how the falling snow was attracted to her hair. She was an enchantress of winter--a rare woman that charmed cold climates by her looks alone. Even Garm, who was forged from the bitterness of the seasons, couldn't help but be enraptured by her vision. He had to have her, and so to take her he stepped out of the woods in the guise of a Lord Knight.

"Good morrow," he said as he stood beside the Grand Peco upon which she sat. Sleipnir knew better than anyone else that danger was about, but before it could cry out in alarm, Garm took hold of its reigns and his touch silenced the creature temporarily.

The Priestess was oblivious to the danger she was in. "Greetings," she responded politely. "It is not often I see a Knight traversing this harsh terrain on foot."

"There isn't a Knight in the world such as I," Garm boasted proudly, "and there isn't a woman in the world like you. That is why I have chosen you to be my bride."

Wintery could be nothing but polite in light of the situation. "I am afraid you have come too late to make such a proposal, Sir Knight," she replied, "for I am betrothed to another."

Unfortunately, her words would not stave off the beast in disguise. "You are unaware of who or what I am," he stated, "so I will disregard your initial decline. You see, I am unmatched in power and skill by any man in Midgard. You would be wise to reconsider my offer, since I make it so generously now."

Wintery was unmoved by the slow-building threat she heard in the back of his throat. "You may be many things, Sir Knight," she replied, "but you would have to encompass unspeakable greatness to cross the name of my beloved from my heart." And as she finished her words, she motioned in the direction from whence came Odin, returning from his hunt. His arms cradled a collection of garlet--crystals that could have easily been purchased from Geffen, but would have held less meaning then.

As soon as Odin caught sight of the false Lord Knight he let the garlets drop from his arms. He knew exactly who it really was--that same guise had been used to trick him long ago. "Garm," he announced, and the beast turned to stare him down, a cruel grin forming on his illusionary lips.

"So this is your betrothed," Garm said, speaking to the Priestess but keeping his gaze on Odin. "I should have known. His stench is all over you and that beast you ride."

Odin reached for his sword and pointed its tip forward as he spoke. "Come away from her, creature, or this day you will live to regret crawling from your place of hiding."

Garm laughed at Odin's bravery as it if meant nothing. "So, enchantress, you demand greatness of your betrothed?" He winked at Wintery over his shoulder, then unsheathed a pair of wicked swords with icy blades. "We shall see how hard you fall for me when my greatness destroys this meager Crusader."

As Crusader and creature advanced on one another, Priestess Winter cast her blessings over Odin in preparation for battle. Garm was upset by her helpfulness but not in the least bit deterred. His two swords clashed with Odin's one, and after they pushed on each other for a while, Garm blew icy breath on the blade of Odin's sword until it cracked. The pressure from his two swords caused the blade to break and sent poor Odin tumbling backwards in the snow. He recovered quickly enough, however, and raised his shield in time to prevent the two swords from cutting him in thirds.

"This won't take long, now that you're disarmed," Garm announced smugly.

"You think so, eh," was Odin's reply, then he gave the creature the surprise of his life. In one quick motion, he took an elemental damascus from the shin of his greaves and drove it right through the illusionary Lord Knight's chest. The knife was an early wedding present from the famous Blacksmith, Brohain, enchanted with the very element that Garm was weak to: wind. The Knight's demonic cry filled the air and shook the earth, then his illusion gave way to his true, monstrous form.

Garm heaved an angry breath before charging full-speed towards Odin. The wind damascus singed the icy plate where it protruded from his chest, but eventually his momentum shook it to the ground. Odin braced himself for impact, but he was bowled over and trampled under Garm's powerful paws. Fortunately for him, Priestess Winter remained close by, and she healed his wounds the moment Garm passed.

This angered the unforgiving ice beast greatly. One on one he knew he could defeat Odin, but with a healer restoring the Crusader, it meant the fight would drag on until even the brute would be forced to retreat. To make up for this, Garm summoned a horde of monstrous polar bears known as Sasquatch, and sent them to drive Wintery away from the battle.

Odin saw exactly what was going on, and partly encouraged it. He called to his fiancé, "Wintery! Take Sleipnir and run!"

But she refused to abandon him. "I will make a warp so we may both get away," she called back to him.

Garm took the opportunity of their distraction to hit and hit hard--poor Odin should have never taken his eyes off the monster for even a moment. He was upon Odin before the Crusader could turn around and sunk his teeth deep into his side, puncturing armor, flesh and bone. One half of Odin's body went limp and the other writhed in pain. He couldn't free himself from Garm's jaws but after a while it didn't matter. The Priestess's horrified scream was the last thing Odin heard before the world went dark for him. Garm let his body fall from his icy jaws and gladly licked the blood from his dagger-like fangs.

Priestess Winter held back all her tears as she made an effort to rescue the fallen Crusader. She could drive Sleipnir quite skillfully from Odin's teachings, but all the skill in the world couldn't help her get past the line of Sasquatch that blocked her path. Garm made plans to advance on her next but she had plenty of time to teleport herself away. Wintery knew, however, that if she made her escape, she would never see Odin alive again. In the eyes of Man and the Divine she made a very noble sacrifice: using a blue gem, she created a warp portal beneath Odin and sent him back to Saint Capitolina's abbey.

* * *

All the Monks, Priests and Nuns of the abbey halted their duties when word spread rapidly of Odin's condition. The Monks prayed for his soul, the Priests healed him and the Nuns bandaged his near-fatal wounds. But even with their care the mighty Crusader remained unconscious for quite some time. His battered state and the missing presence of Priestess Winter marked a dark day for all of Divinity.

No one wanted the task of telling Odin about his fianc's disappearance, for they knew not how he would react. What they knew was that as soon as he awoke, he would wonder, therefore keeping silent vigil over his room was a tense task. Father Mareusis was sent for, knowing that he would handle the task bravely while seeing to the welfare of his former charge. Mareusis was not there when Odin awoke, however. As luck would have it, a young Acolyte was the one to be present when the Crusader stirred once again.

"Odin is awake," the boy called from the closest window, then stood by his lord's bed and waited to be noticed.

Odin uttered the name, "Garm..." It was still fresh on his lips and mind. All the while he was unconscious, he relived that horrifying scene over and over, until the thought of the Priestess brought him back to consciousness. "Where is Wintery," he asked aloud, then looked to the young Acolyte for an answer. The poor child looked as though he would cry if he were made to tell all--fortunately, Father Mareusis entered the room and relieved him of his burden.

"We don't know," the Father admitted sadly. "Your Priests inform me that you were transported here magically. My assumption is that she did the noble thing and warped you here, even though she was unable to warp herself." Anything else he had to say was quickly dismissed as Odin rose from his bed to dress himself. The fire of determination burned bright in his eyes and nothing could be said to dissuade him.

"At least tell me where you are going," Father Mareusis pleaded to know.

"To fetch a sword, then to fetch my bride," Odin called as he strode away from the abbey. This time he meant to destroy Garm once and for all, saving himself and all of Midgard a load of misery in the future.

* * *

Perhaps fortune smiled over Priestess Winter--perhaps not, for she was still alive, but in the possession of Garm. He held dominion over a fortress of ice and sleet, and there he kept her locked away inside a tall tower. A curse that blanketed the tower prevented the Priestess from using any of her Divine-given powers for any reason. The lack of windows kept the longing snow from caressing her delicate strands of hair. Her only light was a single torch with a magic flame, and her only furniture was a bed carved out of a block of ice.

"The woman whose hair snow longs to caress," was Garm's name for her when he came to visit. He could only fit in her prison when he wore his Lord Knight disguise, but it suited him all the same.

He went on to say, "You sent your Crusader away a bit too late, I'm afraid. I felt his life slip from him before I threw him to the ground." Garm would have reveled in seeing her sorrow towards his lie but he was denied. The Priestess showed no emotion towards him, becoming so outwardly cold as to blend perfectly with her prison. Nothing Garm had to say had any effect on her, and few things he said, she responded to.

"Since you are now no longer engaged," he continued, "then I propose you marry me while I'm still in the mood to accept."

"You may be in the mood to accept, but I am not," Wintery replied. She wouldn't even give him the benefit of her gaze, instead opting to stare at a flower that was frozen in one of the ice blocks that made up the floor. Garm growled at her defiance, but that part of him which was formed of the winter elements would not allow him to put her out of _his_ misery.

"I proved myself the container of unspeakable greatness," he snarled. "Is that not what you required?"

"Your greatness lies only in the power to destroy," the Priestess replied. "Odin has that power and much more. Can you be gentle? Can you love anything besides the sounds of horrified screams? Can you know what it means to sacrifice yourself so that others may live? Is there compassion behind that icy, armor plating of yours? Or even a heart? No, I think not. Do what you will with me, but know that I will never come to you willingly."

Once again Garm's roar shook the tundra of ice and snow, this time reaching as far as the walls of Lutie. In that instant, he was so consumed with rage that his aura cracked the floor beneath his illusionary feet! "HOW DARE YOU REFUSE MY ADVANCES," he bellowed, then suddenly his tantrum ceased. He turned sideways and sniffed the air once. Odin's scent was within the area, noting to Garm that the Crusader wouldn't be long from his fortress. This notion gave the monster a wicked plan to deal with the couple, making him smile as he turned to face Wintery again.

"Very well," he spoke calmly. "I am ready, but you are not. But, you are also not in control of this situation. So, we are going to have a wedding, whether you like it or not." Garm threw his cape aside and disappeared, carried out on a gust of icy wind that closed the door on Priestess Winter's prison.

* * *

Odin was deep within the icy tundra, but he had stopped his journey to tend to Sleipnir, who he found huddled in a bank of snow. The warbird had managed to escape death and wandered the frozen terrain with minor injuries. Odin fed his mount a Yggdrasil Berry: the famed fruit of that tree which holds the world together. Instantly Sleipnir was rejuvenated by the berry's curative power, then Odin took his place in its saddle and continued his quest.

Snow whipped about the plains of Lutie in a direct path to Garm's fortress--it was as if every snowflake knew where Priestess Winter was, and wanted to join her. Odin followed the flow of the wind and it brought him to the courtyard of the fortress, where he could hear the sound of unholy wedding music playing on a pipe organ. No guards were stationed outside but even if they were, the Crusader would have cut through them mightily to get within the fortress. Once he burst through the heavy doors, the winds tore through the hallway and guided him to the innermost chamber. There the music was loudest, and there he saw a sight that angered him so greatly, the clouds darkened in the sky above the plains of Lutie, and thunder rumbled above the sound of the wind.

Priestess Winter stood before an icy altar with her legs chained to the floor. Tears were falling from her eyes and they froze as fast as they rolled from her cheeks, falling in a growing heap at her feet. A Sohee floated near to represent her matron of honor and a Dark Priest stood behind the altar, speaking the rites of the ceremony. In one corner of the room, an old pipe organ stood frozen and immobile, yet sound played from it as though someone were pushing its keys. Garm stood boldly to the right of the Priestess in his Demi-Human guise and smiled while the event took place.

Odin withdrew his new blade from its resting place at his side--a flamberge imbued with the wind element. He called into the chamber, "GARM," and the wedding ceremony paused. The organ stopped its playing and the Dark Priest ceased his chanting. Wintery turned quickly to see her hero, but the chains about her ankles caused her to trip and fall, right into the arms of the evil Lord Knight. Lightning flashed in Odin's eyes as well as the sky above as he advanced slowly towards them.

"You remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain," Odin hissed through gritted teeth. "Take your hands off my woman and FACE ME, ONCE AND FOR ALL!"

Garm smiled down at Wintery, keeping his back to the advancing Crusader. "So good of you to attend my wedding, Odin," he said, and his voice carried an unnatural echo. "I saved a seat just for you." He kept one arm around his unwilling bride, and with the other, he motioned to the pews that covered the chamber floor. On each pew there sat the soul of a warrior who, at some point in time, Garm had vanquished in battle. Only a single seat on one of the front pews remained unoccupied and the brute pointed towards it.

Odin sneered at the sight and continued his approach. "There will be NO wedding for you, creature," he said. "Now release her and fight!"

Garm turned to face Odin, sporting a look of sheer defiance. "Ah, but the wedding is almost over," he said, then reached within his armor for something. "Allow me to put the ring on the bride's finger."

The ring Garm presented had a dark aura that Odin could see even at a distance. Priestess Winter tried to keep her hands clenched to prevent it from being put on, but Garm was strong, and able to pry her right hand open. For Odin, the whole world seemed as though it were moving in slow motion as he raced down the center aisle to stop the proceedings--he even threw his shield at Garm once he was within range, but it was too late. When the ring slipped onto Wintery's finger it sent a chill through her body--something she had never felt before! Winds whipped violently around her, so much that Odin had to brace himself on a pew, although he was still several yards away. Starting at the soles of her feet, the Priestess changed from flesh to ice, until not even a strand of her hair moved in the cold breeze that blew through the fortress. Even her Priestly garb froze, and there she stood, a lifeless statue at an unholy altar.

Garm's cruel laughter echoed from where Odin's shield had sent him to the floor, then he spun around and disappeared on icy wind once again. "She belongs to the ice now, Crusader," his voice called from all directions, "and I _am_ the ice. I am the bitter cold that chills your blood. I am the pain you feel when you slip into frozen waters and begin to drown. I am the unforgiving winter storm, and now, she is a part of me. Mwhuah-hah! Take her if you can! I will enjoy the taste of your sorrow as you struggle fruitlessly to save her."

While Garm spoke, and as the wind became calmer, Odin looked to his horror at the condition of his fiancé. He cleared the distance between them quickly enough, then reached out to touch her--the cold of her form penetrated his gauntlets and chilled his fingers to the bone. Out of anger, the Crusader fell to his knees and broke the frozen floor with his fists. He cried out, "DAMN YOU GARM," and lightning struck the ground outside of the fortress in several places. Once he suppressed the sorrow that dared to consume him, he took off his cape and wrapped it around his hands. He then took hold of Wintery's frozen body, and carried her gently but quickly from Garm's keep. As he moved the cape froze around his fingers, but he ignored the biting pain and moved on. Outside, he took hold of Sleipnir's reigns and reached into his saddlebags for a Butterfly Wing: that mystical item which transports one to the last town they visited. Before he could use the item, however, Odin listened angrily as Garm had a few more words to say:

"You could have been destroyed today, Odin, but I think this is a more fitting torment for you. I'll revel in your pain, and once you've been fully consumed by your loss, then I'll come for you. I'll collect her, and I'll destroy you." The brute's vicious laughter echoed in Odin's ears as he used the butterfly magic to get away from the plains of Lutie.

* * *

In matters of elemental enchantments, Odin knew the best place to venture was Geffen, the city of Magi and Wizardry. At their main school he sought council from Grand Master Laverso, a scholar in water and frost magic. Under the Grand Master's guidance, other Wizards took the Priestess back into one of their laboratories to study her condition. Odin waited for word while an attendant wrapped his frost-bitten hands in potion-soaked bandages. Once there was word to give, Grand Master Laverso came to the Crusader and spoke to him in the privacy of a small, empty classroom.

"This is quite the situation, Lord Odin," Laverso stated. "Whatever magic Garm used is strong, indeed. I have studied the frozen arts for half a century, and yet even my hands were pained to touch her."

Odin sat in one of the classroom's windowsills and listened quietly to what the Wizard had to say. It is said, that as a mark of his sorrow, rain fell from dark clouds over Geffen the whole while he was there. "Is she lost to me," he asked in a whisper, for deep down he did not want to know if the answer was yes.

"Yes and no," Laverso replied. Wizards had always been known not to give straight answers, and he was no different. "From what I and my colleagues can determine, she has most assuredly been turned into ice. But within that ice, her soul can still be felt by those proficient in that particular energy. And, as another good sign, though she is in warm weather now, the Priestess is not melting. Our Elders are formulating a solution as we speak. You may continue to wait here for more results, or we could arrange a room for you in one of our dorms."

"I do not desire bodily comfort at this time," Odin replied, then was left to brood. Time passed slowly while he waited for better news on his bride's condition. Then, he was visited by an old friend, of whom he hadn't seen in years. Nicolas D. Wolfwood was another legend of that time, though his story must be saved for another session. He and Odin grew up together, and although they had the same warrior's spirit, he had chosen the path of the Monk instead of the Crusader. Now, he came to Odin at the request of Father Mareusis, sent to keep him from further acting without thought. Nicolas entered the school and was led to where Odin waited--as soon as he was seen by his old friend, they greeted each other warmly.

"So you've gone and gotten your woman killed," Wolfwood said in an amused tone. He always found amusement in situations great and small, no matter how much it upset the target of his humor.

Odin certainly wasn't amused. "She is _not_ dead," he stated bluntly, "only cursed. I am waiting now to hear what may be done about it."

"What _should_ be done is that we venture back to Lutie and let a little light through Garm," Nicolas said as he clenched his fists and flexed his muscles. "I've been training 'til my muscles weren't wont to train anymore. And I plan to train again. But first, my brother, I have come to aid you."

His friend's bravery was quite admirable to Odin. "I must tend to Winter first," the Crusader replied. "Once she is free and safe, I will not rest until Garm is put beneath the snow where he belongs."

His wait ended that moment as Grand Master Laverso entered the room once again. "Lord Odin," he called out, "we have your solution. Although how it may be achieved is another matter entirely."

Odin stood for his news. "It will be my task to fret over that," he stated. "Now speak! What word have you for me?"

Laverso inclined his head once, then spoke. "The Elders decree that in order to free Priestess Winter, you must remove the ring from her finger. Such is not a simple task, however, for it requires a pick, forged from the fang of Hatii, to succeed." Hatii was another name for Garm, often spoken by mystic scholars because of its reverent tone. "The fang must be acquired--it matters not, left or right--then it must be forged by a Blacksmith of legend. One tap from the pick is all that is required, and it must be done with precision. Tap any other part of her hand on accident, and she shatters."

Nicolas stood by and listened. "Favorable odds," he noted after the instructions were given. "Shall we begin to mount an army, Odin?"

"I need no army," Odin stated bitterly and proudly, to which Wolfwood responded by stepping up to him and gripping his shoulders.

"Have not your past ventures with Garm schooled you on anything," the Monk asked harshly. "_You_ are no match for him! No one is! Alone, or with the aid of a mere _handful_ of willing warriors! To strike Garm down I am more than willing to go the distance, but we _need_ an army to make it count! You wish to stride there only to be laughed at and killed?" Wolfwood displayed one of his biceps and kissed it proudly. "I did not train _these_ for dying, I trained them to deliver death!"

Odin could not argue with his friend's wise, though unorthodox speech. "I know you speak the truth, my brother, but Garm's name alone brings out the worst in me," the Crusader replied, then looked to Grand Master Laverso. "Petition as many Wizards as you can to join my crusade. In one week, I will return to Geffen with as many of every professional class as I can obtain. Then, we will march on Lutie, and take down Garm, and anything else that stands in our way of reaching him!" Odin left Priestess Winter in the care of Geffen's Wizards, then ventured off to gather his army.

* * *

When the day came to march on Lutie's plains, Odin had surmounted an incredible army. Every hero in Midgard had come out of hiding for the event and brought as many friends with them as they could find. Every class was represented, even the unscrupulous Rogues and Assassins, and every clan had at least one representative, foregoing their differences with the other clans. Odin's fame and good withstanding had earned him the support of every last one of them. He was proud that day, but did not let his pride distract him from the task at hand.

Odin's mighty army marched around the twisting pathways over Mount Mjolnir and entered the plains of Lutie. It is said that the army was so vast, that a child in the town of Lutie looked out his window and saw them though they were miles away. Garm had been resting in his frozen keep when he was awoken by the scent of his old nemesis. He immediately left to meet the oncoming challenge, keeping confident even when he saw what awaited him in the field.

The army took all the space on a large hillside as they waited for orders to act. Odin rode high on Sleipnir's back, pacing before the front line. In the valley before the hill stood Garm, alone but unshaken. His maw spread into a fang-filled grin as he and the Crusader locked gazes, then he offered the first taunt of the evening.

"So," the beast called, "the mighty Odin requires an army to do his job for him, ah?" Garm's laughter carried over the field. "I guess you've finally learned half your lesson, then. No _one man_ can defeat _me_." He scratched at the ground with his paws and braced himself for his next move. "And now for the other half," he called, then howled loud enough to wake the dead all the way south in Glast Heim. The ground rumbled as an army of Sasquatch, greater in number than that of Odin's army, clawed their way from beneath the snow and stood around Garm defensively. "No army will _ever_ be great enough to defeat me," the brute boasted, then charged forward with his troops.

The battle itself was quite titanic! Odin and his warriors ran full-force down the hill to meet the challenge head-on. Priests weaved their way in and out of the action, casting their Divine-given enchantments and healing those in need. A group of Bards and Dancers stood at the foot of the hill, playing and dancing to a rousing fight song that kept the troops encouraged. Hunters shot their arrows in an arc, raining death on any creature unfortunate enough to be caught beneath it. Assassins and Rogues used their mighty tricks to put down as many Sasquatch as they could, although it seemed the Rogues were more interested in taking parts off the beasts for later profit than winning any sort of war. The Knights picked up their slack quite well, however, bashing heads and moving in time to rescue the heroes who became overwhelmed by combat. The Wizards and Sages wove dangerous spells of lightning and let them loose in the atmosphere, while the Alchemists grew deadly plants that enveloped and consumed any Sasquatch that came within range. The mighty Crusaders, led by Odin, carved an unrelenting path towards Garm, while the Monks, led by Nicolas D. Wolfwood, darted through the field doing hand to hand combat with whatever creature they could find. The Blacksmiths were not to be missed as well, but their place was back on the hill that they came from, working on a special weapon under the instruction of the legendary Brohain.

Garm's own troops were making their greatest effort as well. Every Sasquatch had the strength of seven men, and when they got their arms around a hero, they would squeeze until bones were broken and breath was denied. With their claws they would swipe and leave gashes in armor and flesh, and with their paws they would send soldiers reeling several feet in the wrong direction. What gave Odin's army the advantage was the presence of the Priests, who would do nothing but heal the wounded and avoid conflict. Garm was wise to this technique, however, and as he plowed through the gathering like a runaway cart, he made sure to take fatal bites out of whatever Priest was unfortunate enough to be within his reach. He took blows during his rampage but ignored all of them, driven by the heat of battle to destroy everything in his path. Soon the snow on the battlefield was reduced to slush, reddened by the blood of man and beast alike.

* * *

As the battle raged on, both sides diminished greatly in numbers. Garm, however, was not without cunning. When his army was down to but one-third of what he had originally summoned, he summoned again, calling up that same amount to continue waging war tirelessly. Discouragement rode on the backs of many of Odin's supporters when they witnessed this--even the Bards and Dancers, frostbitten and muscle weary, could no longer continue their supporting performances. Odin himself was wearied by constantly clashing with Garm and being separated by the surrounding battle, but he refused to let the insurmountable odds daunt him. He looked to the Blacksmiths for a sign--Brohain signaled him, then Odin made his call.

"You've named me a coward many times, beast," he called above the roar of battle. "Seems that title belongs to you instead!"

Every beast and warrior halted their actions and looked in the direction of Garm. The ice wolf growled angrily at Odin's comment and called back to him, "With what gall do you make this statement, Crusader? Was it not _you_ who came to me with an army in tow?"

"Aye, that much is so," Odin replied, "but I petitioned but ONE army to my aid, and such an unsizeable one at that! You, on the other hand, not only seek the help of TWO armies, but two which, on their own, overdo mine in number! Your eyes are not the only yellow parts of you, it seems!"

Garm barked, growled, gnashed his teeth, scratched at the ground and foamed at the mouth. "HOW DARE YOU COME TO SUCH A CONCLUSION," he roared, but could not deny the truth behind Odin's words. This fight was between them alone, and the beast hungered to deliver the death blow to that famed warrior of decades past.

"You have your point," Garm hissed, and with a bark, he commanded his beasts to form a straight path from himself to Odin. Likewise, Odin's troops did the same. "We will end this now, Crusader," the brute called to him, then laughed. "Or rather, _I_ will! HAH! Are you ready? Or do you need a moment to pray?"

"No more moments," Odin replied. "This ends NOW!" Then he pulled on the reigns of Sleipnir and charged forward as fast as the warbird could move! Garm raced forward at his own rapid pace to meet him head-on. It seemed there was more than a mile between them but they cleared the distance quickly, Garm's fangs clashing with Odin's sword as they moved past one-another. Both stopped where the other had started and prepared themselves for another attempt--they repeated this process twice, then the Crusader put his secret plan to action.

Back on the hill where the army had come from, the Blacksmiths had been working on a special weapon that only Brohain knew how to forge. It took ten Blacksmiths to forge it to perfection, and several hundred of those famed crystals, the Rough Wind--or so it was written. The item was a War Hammer so engorged on wind magic that it threatened to explode, but an earthly encasement forged from a thin layer of Great Nature kept it temporarily stable. Once the item was ready it was thrown with great precision by one of the Assassins present. Garm barely caught a glimpse of it as it sailed over his head and to the waiting warrior who was meant to wield it.

Odin threw down his sword and shield, then leaped from the saddle of Sleipnir to reach the War Hammer as it sailed through the sky! He gripped its handle with both hands, and as he left the air he brought it down on the crest of Garm's head with a mighty swing! The sound was said to be like lightning striking the ground over a series of moments, and the flash was so incredible that it threatened to blind everyone present. The hammer broke instantly over Garm's head but its task was complete: in the small crack that it created in his icy forehead, the hammer sent all of its elemental power within Garm, mixing his very insides with that one element he was so weak to. The thunder and lightning yearned to escape its ice imprisonment--it darted throughout his body, creating cracks where it felt it could escape! Garm moaned and writhed like a dying animal while he felt the element run through him, but there was nothing else he could do.

Just as Garm began his death throws, all the creatures that he had summoned started theirs. The Sasquatch fell where they stood and melted back to the snow from whence they came. Bolts of lightning flew from the cracks in Garm's plating, and Odin's army was forced to run for shelter to keep from being struck. Odin himself stood close by and watched, however, fearless and feeling vindicated. Garm howled his final howl that day, then exploded in a burst of ice shards and electricity. Fortunately for Odin, at least one of the beast's fangs remained in tact enough to be used how he needed it to be. The rest of Garm's parts were either collected as souvenirs by the other heroes present, or scattered on the ever-pulling winds of Lutie's plains. This was indeed a great victory for all of them, and although they would return to their lives shortly, none of them would forget what happened that day.

* * *

Once again the great Brohain aided Odin, this time by forging the magic pick that he needed to free Priestess Winter from her icy prison. It is said that the Blacksmith made it right on that hill--that lightning struck his forge to heat it, and that the sky opened a downpour to cool the item once it was complete. However it was made, it was, then Odin rushed with it back to Geffen and the school where the Priestess was being kept. For a moment he stood uncertain, for the strike had to be accurate, lest he destroy her altogether. But with a prayer and a blessing from Father Mareusis, Odin brought down the pick with great precision, and the ring was instantly shattered. The statue melted and the Priestess stood its place. Then Odin took her in his arms and they embraced each other lovingly.

Soon after the two were wed, fearing that the seasons would bring another obstacle beforehand. Nicolas D. Wolfwood was Odin's best man, and Priestess Winter let one of the Nuns of St. Capitolina's abbey be her matron of honor. Everyone from the heroic army who was able came that day, and the event was held on the beautiful beach of Comodo. That was the day snow had willingly come to Comodo for the first and only time. Their honeymoon was said to bring snow to Jawaii island as well.

Whether or not they lived happily ever after I am uncertain, for so many other tales of Odin follow this one. But at least you now know one more, if you have never heard this one before.


	5. The Happy Mask of the ShadowNinja

**The Happy Mask of the ShadowNinja**

A Merchant by the name of Herzel was well known as one of the craftiest salesmen ever to be born. He became rich by selling cheaply made goods at overcharged prices. He also excelled in collecting rare items by trade for auction. His riches were vast, but he lived in the illusion of poverty to fool tax collectors and other officials.

On his way home one day, Herzel chanced upon an old beggar selling his meager possessions on the side of a road. This man was wrapped in a ragged manteau and sat on a filthy blanket with a few things scattered around him. Scenes like this were laughable to other Merchants, but Herzel had often obtained his finest merchandise from such unlikely sources. Beggars were so grateful for whatever they were given that they would trade priceless jewelry for a few zen.

"How now, beggar," the crafty Merchant called as he examined the poor man's wares. "Have you anything worth my consideration?"

The beggar lifted his head, but half his face was covered by a worn hood that prevented his eyes from being seen. What few teeth he had left looked ready to fall from his mouth as his lips parted to speak. "I have nothing worth the consideration of any man anymore," he spoke in a tired and rasped voice. "Not even a life. I only wish to earn enough to afford a proper funeral."

Herzel was heartless towards the man's plight, wanting only what could add to his already vast fortune. "I may give a small donation to your cause," the Merchant said, "but only in exchange for something worthwhile. Now come on, old man. Some piece of junk amongst all this must have a rich story behind it. Something that would up its value from pittance to plenty?" Herzel stooped and rudely rooted through the beggar's things, tossing aside what seemed to him worthless. Then, as he raised a tattered rag, he found an item unlike anything else in the beggar's possession: It was a Mr. Smile mask, a cheap and common novelty amongst lesser Merchant shops. At casual glance it seemed used and worthless, but Herzel appraised it carefully and suspected there to be value.

"What is the tale behind this mask," he asked the beggar, who then took the mask from him and held it up to the light. The face of the mask was simple--two eyes and an ear-to-ear smile, carved and painted for emphasis. On the inside, however, the mask bore several marks of an unknown language.

"This mask is nothing I would wish on the living," the old beggar replied. "It is a forbidden artifact. One I have found and intend to take to my grave."

His words only served to entice Herzel more. "Tell me its story, old man," he requested.

"There is no story to be told," the beggar replied. "This mask I found on a man who had died. He held it tightly in his grip, but as I passed him it fell from his hand as though it were meant for me. I took it with me, and I have been haunted e'er since by sights and sounds that would shake the dead from their graves. I believe this mask was the cause of that man's death, and now the cause of mine. I wish only the cold embrace of the reaper now, and to take this mask with me into the earth."

Herzel's eyes lit up with intrigue at the old beggar's words. He wanted the mask that much more once the beggar was done speaking. "Don't be so melodramatic," he spoke with cheer. "That mask couldn't possibly be cursed! You are old, and aged men are known to see and hear things as they come closer to death's door." The Merchant's words were meant to persuade the beggar into giving up the treasure, but the old man seemed neither moved nor insulted. He merely sat there, defeated by life, yet unmotivated to relinquish that most valuable item he held.

"You desire misfortune if you desire this mask," the beggar replied. "It is cursed. Of this I have no doubt."

"If that is so, then I will take it to a Priest and have it cured," Herzel said, and that much was true. He had often taken cursed items to the High Priests of Prontera to have them purged of all their discord. Still, his statement only moved the beggar slightly. Herzel desired this mask so much that he took twelve-hundred zeny from his satchel and set it down on the beggar's rug. "You may never see this much zen in what remains of your life, old man," he said, "and it is forty times what such a mask is normally worth. Sell it to me and I will have it purged of whatever evil you feel it contains. The story alone is enough to make it worth a great deal to the right buyer, and I must have it to sell!"

The beggar looked down at the coins, but his grip did not loosen from the mask. "You so desire this cursed artifact that much," he asked the Merchant, but without waiting for a reply, went on to say, "Very well. I have said all that I can in the way of warning to you. Take the mask and do with it as you wish."

Herzel practically snatched the Mr. Smile mask from the beggar's grip as he reached for it. Then, with but a hearty laugh as his way of saying thanks, he returned to his cart and straddled the old Savage sow that pulled it for him. That sow he had raised from a Savage Babe and its well-fed girth was a great indicator of his wealth. Herzel rode his sow from the beggar's sale feeling triumphant, for he knew not the true price of what he had acquired.

* * *

He had no true intention of having the mask purged, for he did not believe it was cursed. Herzel took it with him to the city of Morroc, and there he did business as usual, selling potions and other supplies to the adventurers that passed through that area. He kept the Mr. Smile mask proudly displayed, however, knowing that curious patrons would inquire and be intrigued. The more attention that came to it, the more he could expect to claim for it at auction in the days to come.

One man who visited Herzel's shop seemed far more interested in the mask than anything that was for sale. He went unseen, but his presence could be felt like an ominous hand hovering about one's neck. It wasn't until the man spoke that Herzel realized he was there and even then he could not tell which direction the voice came from.

"You have something I want," the voice said over the Merchant's shoulder. Herzel was so startled he almost fell over his cart, but he caught himself and spun around. No one was there, and yet, he knew that someone was. He knew of the special professions of the Assassin and Rogue, and how they were masters of hiding in plain sight.

"If you've come to steal from me, you'll be denied," Herzel warned his visitor. "My cart is enchanted to prevent such things from happening."

"How do you steal what already belongs to you," the voice asked, then answered, "You have it stolen first. That mask which hangs proudly from the east of your cart is mine. Give it back to me, now."

"And how am I to tell your words are not just to trick me into giving you the mask for free," Herzel asked, not at all intimidated by the voice with no visible source. "I purchased it for a great amount from its last claimant, therefore the mask is rightfully mine."

The voice replied, "You know not who you speak to. That mask is mine. If you do not give it to me, you will regret it."

"GUARDS," Herzel cried out, "there is a thief in our midst!" Immediately, a pair of nearby sentinels worked their way through the bustling crowd of Morroc to see about him. Herzel smirked with confidence, for he knew that his visitor would not risk capture under any circumstance.

The disembodied voice spoke again. "Have it your way, Merchant. But know what happens next is on your head. You will give me that mask willingly one day, and it will be the last thing you do." The wingbeats of a raven took Herzel's attention and he watched as a large one flew into the face of the guards, then took to the sky. Herzel spent his next few moments being interrogated by the guards about his alarm, then he resumed selling his wares to those who would come to him.

* * *

The profit he received from Morroc was so plentiful that Herzel sent for a friend to help bring it all back to Alberta. Jeppuk was a fellow Merchant who had long-since set aside his cart to run a modest well within Morroc's city limits. Water was and always would be a valued commodity in that area, so Jeppuk knew he would never be unemployed. He took the night off and visited Herzel in his room at the local inn--Herzel greeted him warmly, and shared a bottle of fine spirits while they caught up on each other's lives.

"You'll never amount to anything being a well-digger," Herzel teased Jeppuk.

"Aye, but at least I am content," his friend replied. "Can you say the same? Always chasing the almighty zeny. It is a mistress that never gives itself fully to you, you know."

"But I enjoy the chase," Herzel laughed, then his eyes sparkled with glee. He had to show his friend the item that would later make him wealthier than ever before. "Come, Jeppuk! Let me show you the secret to my success!" He went to the satchel hanging from his bedpost and retrieved the Mr. Smile mask, then held it out to his friend. "I acquired that today from a dying beggar," he said, then laughed. "The old fool said it was cursed. Whether or not it is true, I certainly plan to sell it like it is."

Jeppuk examined the mask inside and out, stopping as soon as he noticed the symbols carved into it. "That beggar spoke truthfully," he said, then slid the mask across the table and away from himself. "Herzel, you must rid yourself of that artifact immediately. The marks that it bears are the secret language of the Assassin."

So it was an Assassin, Herzel thought to himself, but remained unbothered. An Assassin's mask was a rare artifact and it sealed his determination to have it put to auction. "Do you know what the symbols mean," he asked his friend, for that information was also of great value. Jeppuk was hesitant to answer him, however.

"Because of where I live, and my trade, it has become my duty to familiarize myself with the languages of all the people here." Jeppuk spoke in a foreboding tone with his eyes set on the cursed mask. "The Assassins have allowed me to learn their language, for it permits me to do business with them in the secrecy they desire. But to share the meaning of their scribes would mean death, no matter what my current value. I am merely a well-digger, after all. My kind come and go."

"But you will have little to fear here," Herzel said, making an effort to loosen his friend's lips. "I hired guards to keep watch over my room tonight. I would be fool not to, with all the zeny I made in the marketplace. Tomorrow you will come with me to Alberta. The Assassins will never know you spoke, for they would never come where guards wait to capture them. And besides, it isn't as though you're telling me the _exact_ meaning of the symbols, thereby deciphering the language to an outsider. You are merely helping me solve a riddle, of which I will know no more than the answer, not the method by which the answer is obtained." To sweeten the deal, Herzel poured his friend another glass of fine spirits. "Now come on, man. Answer the riddle."

Jeppuk's nerves remained wary, even after he swallowed the entire glass of alcohol. "The symbols speak the owner's name," he replied, "which I am not inclined to repeat. It belongs to an Assassin who wishes his satisfaction to be the last thing his victim sees before succumbing to death. By the Assassin's code, he is unallowed to show his face. Therefore he wears the Mr. Smile mask, so that its smile informs the victim that he is satisfied."

Jeppuk was ill to his insides at the thought, but Herzel could not have been happier. The Merchant slapped his own knee and danced out of his chair. "This is truly the prize I've been waiting for," he declared, "and you, my friend, must share it with me! When we reach Alberta, I want you to stay with me. Not merely for a fortnight, but for the rest of your days. With what I will make from this mask, we will have fine spirits and women until we are ready for the ground!"

Jeppuk did not share his friend's celebratory state. "I could not. I have my well to tend to, among other things." He took another drink of fine spirits, which helped to lighten his mood. "And besides. I could not bear living with you for more than a day, let alone a fortnight. You are shifty, and I get enough of that from the desert sand."

Herzel laughed, then with his friend he finished off the bottle of spirits, and both fell fast asleep. Herzel had put much faith in the Morroccan guards and their ability to keep him safe, so he slept with ease that night. His morning, however, would reveal to him how he was horribly mistaken.

* * *

It was unthinkable to Herzel how he could have slept through such a grizzly scene, but he did, awaking to the horrible image of his friend's mutilated corpse. Jeppuk's body lay outstretched on the room's only bed, his blood soaking the sheets and dripping into pools along the wooden floor. The most grizzly part of the scene was not that his throat had been slashed, but that a raven perched casually on the man's chin, pecking away at his eyes and mouth. Herzel was so horrified he found no air to utter a scream. A sickness rose in him as he witnessed the raven pulling Jeppuk's tongue from his lips. Then the bird took flight, but did not leave the room. Instead, it went to a corner and landed on the shoulder of an Assassin.

The Assassin took the tongue from the beak of the bird and held it forward. "He will tell no more of the Assassins' secrets," he said, then threw the tongue at Herzel's feet. Poor Herzel stumbled backwards and fell onto his hands and buttocks, then struggled to call on the guards. Before he could say anything, however, the Assassin told him, "The guards cannot hear you. Their ears are full of their own blood."

Herzel was feeling fear as he had never felt it before, topped by grief over his friend's murder. The Assassin was at a distance but his very presence meant that Herzel's fate was sealed, or so he thought. In a flash of movement, the Assassin cleared the distance between them and crouched before the Merchant. The Assassin leaned his head into Herzel's--his face was covered by a Mr. Scream mask, whose horrifying expression only served to elevate the Merchant's fear. The raven perched on the Assassin's shoulder interrupted their silent stares with a sudden shriek, then the Assassin spoke in a dangerously calm tone.

"I have asked you kindly once. Now, I do so again. Will you return to me the mask that is rightfully mine?"

Herzel looked to the Assassin in disbelief, then to the table where the Mr. Smile mask remained. "Why have you not just taken it for yourself," he asked quickly, then braced himself for a killing blow.

The Assassin did not move, however. "You purchased that mask, therefore it is yours," he replied. "Were those not your words? I will not take it if you believe you own it rightfully. I will simply... take other things, until what is mine is returned to me." He held the tongue of the late Jeppuk close to Herzel's face. The Merchant had to cover his mouth to keep himself from vomiting.

"Your friend's tongue is one thing," the Assassin said. "Your guards' ears are another. What else will I take, you ask? You will see." Then he disappeared right before Herzel's eyes, leaving his raven to flutter wildly about the room before it left through an open window.

Herzel was quite shaken by this encounter and by no means glad to be alive. He gathered all his possessions--including the mask--and left Morroc that morning. He was sad to leave his friend in such a state, but that sadness did not prevent him from the use of Jeppuk's cart. He linked it to the back of his own and took flight, for his sow was capable of pulling two carts just as swiftly as one.

* * *

As night settled over the land, Herzel was still not clear of the Morroccan desert. He set up camp so that his sow could rest, but he himself could not slumber. He knew the Assassin could not have been far off, and he feared what might be taken next. He gripped the hilt of a sword unsteadily and watched over his camp for as long as his nerves would allow. Eventually he gave in to fatigue and slipped unknowingly into a deep slumber.

When he awoke again it was with a start, and night still covered the desert sands. The familiar sound of flapping wings brought his attention to his cart, and there perched the raven, holding something foul in its beak once again. Herzel's head then turned as he heard a strange roar and he caught sight of his Savage in her death throws. Her belly had been sliced in such a manner that she still lived, even as her very innards poured out of her.

"NO," Herzel cried, then scrambled over to his beloved companion. The pig cried as much as she could but then her lungs failed her, and she laid still. Herzel wept for his loss, but as the raven settled to begin feasting on the sow, the Merchant swung wildly with his sword to ward it off. "Get away you foul creature," he cursed as he chased the crow around. "You scavenger! You thief!"

While Herzel chased the raven about his campsite, the Assassin stepped out of the shadows and settled next to the dying embers of the campfire. "It seems the crow and you are kindred spirits in that regard," he said. "Perhaps he was meant for you and not I."

Herzel ceased his pursuit of the bird and watched as the Assassin turned the embers to liven their flame. While the Merchant slumped to the ground, the Assassin took a small pouch from his hip and threw it to him. Zeny jingled within the pouch as it hit the ground.

"I took some water from your cart while you slept," the Assassin noted. "I believe that will pay for it."

"Take the mask," Herzel said, his voice laden with sorrow. "Please, just... take it, if that is what you want."

"What I want, is for you to give it to me," the Assassin replied, then rose to his feet. The raven came to his shoulder with the Savage sow's liver, and he took it in hand. "I hope you learn something from all this, Merchant. But if you don't, that is all right as well. Try not to lose my mask." Then he retreated to the shadows, once again leaving the Merchant amongst a scene of vile murder.

In a desperate bid for sanity, Herzel rushed to his cart and retrieved the mask. Then he held it high and screamed, "Here! Take it! I'm giving it to you! Take it! Please! Take it! I don't want it anymore! Take it! Please...." He collapsed near the corpse of his sow, his plea falling on the deaf ears of the desert tundra. "Please, take it," he whispered, then wept softly to himself until he fell asleep.

* * *

Well into the next day, Herzel was still wandering the desert, alone, haggard, and with but the mask and an ever-decreasing supply of water to sustain him. He had left all his other possessions behind, unable to move the overloaded carts without the aid of his sow. He tramped on in no particular direction, feeling the heat of the desert more fiercely now than ever before. He even collapsed a few times, but rose again, guided by the illusionary sound of a raven cawing close by him.

Through the wavering heat of the mid-day, Herzel spied a distant campsite and his hopes were slightly lifted. He moved quickly towards it, but the better his vision of it, the slower his movements became. There, sitting on that same blanket he recalled from days past was the old beggar, with his shop situated in the middle of nowhere. There wasn't even a road or signs of wagon tracks before him but he sat there all the same, selling his same wares, minus the cursed mask. Herzel approached the blanket and stared down at the beggar until he was acknowledged. Without a word, the beggar held a flask of water for the Merchant, then made room on his blanket for the man to sit. This haggard pair sat together, and many moments passed before one uttered a word.

"You were right about the mask," Herzel said tiredly. "It was cursed. I should have listened to you."

The beggar rocked forward and back for no particular reason. "Did you not take it to a Priest to have it cured," he asked.

"The curse on this mask is not mystical," Herzel replied, then joined the beggar in his rocking motion. The motion was strangely soothing, and helped to take his mind off the desert heat. "This mask belongs to an Assassin," he went on to say. "You, must have found it in the hands of his last victim."

"So it does," the beggar replied. "And so I did." The beggar seemed to rise from where he sat, but as he did he folded like skin, then lay in a heap in front of who then sat in his place: the Assassin. The raven struggled its way out from beneath the beggar's hood, then took its rightful place at the Assassin's shoulder, and they looked to Herzel for the next move.

The Merchant felt the full force of irony in this situation and as it struck him, he started to laugh. His laughter carried across the endless sands for several moments before he calmed down--the Assassin waited patiently, and the crow did as well.

"When this raven came to me," the Assassin began, "his leg held a note, which told me a story of a Merchant who had wronged two travelers. This Merchant had sold the travelers a flask of red potion at a discount, which they believed to be more than generous. Then, as fate would have it, they were in need of the use of that potion. One traveler was injured gravely, but the potion would have sustained him until they could reach proper medical facilities. The potion failed, and it was later determined that it was not a potion at all, but spring water, guised with scarlet dyestuffs." He rose to his feet and stood over Herzel. "I carry no sympathy for such a case. Mine is merely to carry out the commission. But this particular case did interest me, for it was a case of murder. And if there is one thing Assassins cannot abide by, it is someone unproficient doing the murdering in their stead. The lesson you were meant to learn was not one of greed, but of deception. Only true killers are allowed to deceive before they deliver death. Now. Will you return my mask to me?"

With tears blurring his vision, Herzel took the mask from his satchel and thus began the ceremony. He knelt and held it out to the Assassin, who then took hold of the mask with one hand, and slit the Merchant's throat with a Jur attached to the other. While Herzel lay dying, the Assassin switched his mask so he once again wore a smile. Then he tied a new note to the raven's leg and sent it on a return flight to his current employer. When the note reached its destination, its reader would find the following words:

Contract completed. Payment due.  
Signed, the ShadowNinja


	6. The Price of Forbidden Love

**The Price of Forbidden Love**

How do Assassins handle love? Surely they are trained against such things, for an Assassin with a heart is not allowed to exist. Assassins do love, but not in a manner such as you or I. When they love, it is dangerous for all involved, including themselves.

* * *

Assassins have no home, but there was a place this Assassin returned to sporadically. It was deep within uncharted forest, where the streams poured past tall cliffs and the small clearings that rested at their feet. There he went to be at peace, and there she came to him, as she also did sporadically. With his back to a large tree, he felt a wire slip 'round his neck and threaten to hang him. Even though it brought his feet inches off the ground, he made no effort to escape it. He merely dangled on one end while she came down on the other, holding fast to the wire with one hand. Then, from out of nowhere, a raven swooped down and clipped the wire from his neck, sending both Assassins to the ground. The raven flew around and returned with intent on attacking her, but she prepared for it. She took a large handkerchief from her bosom and caught the bird within it, then dashed it against the trunk of the tree. He stood and watched it fall limp in the garment but showed no concern for the creature that aided him.

"Keeping a pet," she asked him.

"I keep no one," he replied. "It is keeping me. It will recover, and if you are still here when it does, you will regret it."

"Then let us finish our business quickly, you and I," she said, then moved swiftly enough to put a dagger in his right shoulder. Just as swiftly, he removed the dagger and placed it in her left. Then they came together, as they had often did, mixing body and blood on the soft grass of the clearing. The raven had long-since woken by the time their business was done, but it kept at peace for the time being.

They laid together, but separate, for a while. Then peaceful silence was broken by conversation. "I grow tired of kissing everything but a face," she said. "Do you think yours too good for my lips?"

"You have seen all that you will see of me," he replied, "until I am dead and unable to prevent otherwise."

"I will make note, and remember, to have my kiss as you are taken from this world." She smiled openly, for her own mask merely covered the top half of her face. "But I will have one while we both still live. This I assure you."

"Hn. You make promises you cannot keep."

"But I can, for we have been coupled. A noble is to die and we must seek her head together."

"By order of the Council?"

"The decree lies within your grasp."

He felt the ground until a scroll found its way to his hand, then unfurled it and held it up to his vision. In the Assassin's special code, the order was quite clear: seek out Jillian Demau, and return with her scalp as proof of her termination. The Demau family were of the highest noble order, and their castle would have many guards. For a lone Assassin, such an order would be far too difficult to fulfill. They dressed each other once the decree was fully understood, then set off to begin their task.

* * *

These were the happier moments of Jillian's life. She was engaged to Count Armondo Matheid, and in a few short days their wedding would commence in glorious fashion. She meant to outdo her cousin Angelina's wedding ten-fold, so no expense was spared and no advisor went unheard. All of Al De Baran would be charged with attending, but the reception would only be for those of rich or noble standing. And their honeymoon...

"Our honeymoon will NOT be held on that _filthy _Jawaii Island unless it has been cleansed far better than it was the last time I was there," she demanded of her caretaker.

"Madame," he replied, "I assure you Jawaii Island is the cleanest and most expensive place in all of Midgard to have one's honeymoon."

"Then _why_ is it, that when we toured there to see if it was a suitable spot, that place was _crawling_ with couples who were far less worthy of it than I?" Her constant pacing made it hard on the squadron of dressmakers, who did their best to stitch and plan her wedding dress around her wild movements. "If the Count and I are to have our honeymoon there, then all of Jawaii Island will be VACANT of vagrants, and CLEANSED of whatever trace of _filth_ they leave behind! I want it all to myself, you understand? ALL TO MYSELF!"

"Very good, Madame." Her caretaker excused himself to check on other things, such as the bottle of brandy he kept hidden beneath a vase in the lower hallway.

As he exited, a guard entered with another man close behind. "Madame, your dance instructor is here to see you. Victor Matinata."

Jillian would have objected to such an intrusion, but then her eyes swept over Matinata's chiseled countenance, and her ears caught sound of his velvety, accented voice. "At your reception, Madame, you must not simply dance," he said. "You must, fly, through the audience, like a bird through the clouds. Shall I teach you how to fly?"

"Guards, get rid of these dressmakers and fetch me an orchestra," Jillian demanded. The walls of her bedchamber were lined with guards and at least a third of them ushered the dressmakers away. In only long britches and a wire cage, she approached Matinata, and each step made the image of her fiancé more blurred in her mind. The orchestra played something sensual when they arrived, and the dance instructor immediately took charge of the moment.

"We shall begin with a waltz," he said, and the lesson took flight. Jillian was naturally graceful and therefore a fast learner when it came to dancing. Soon their session became nothing more than a flirtatious game of follow-the-leader. Bits of unfixed fabric flew from Jillian's cage, marking her path. Victor Matinata let his hands trace gently over her face, then ran his fingers through her long, blonde hair.

"You have such luxurious hair, Madame," he said to her. "So wild, and yet so tame."

"This hair has brought many-a-suitor my way," she told him. "Yet, none so worthy as the Count. Until now, perhaps?" Her eyes met his for a moment, then she looked away. "No, it is too late. The Count and I must be wed, for it will join our family fortunes and make us all the better for it. But that does not mean my happiness must lie only in him, you know...."

"Yes," Matinata replied, "happiness may come from many sources."

"Have you received an invitation to my wedding," she asked him.

"No, Madame, for I do not live within Al De Baran."

"Then see my caretaker on your way out to receive one, along with your payment. I will be looking for you at the reception. I will be sure to save you a dance."

"Best to save one for your fiancé, Madame. My partner is with him as we speak, teaching him all that he will need to know for that one night."

* * *

Count Matheid's dance lesson ended much earlier than Jillian Demau's, but for a similar reason. In the privacy of his bedchamber, he shared a plate of wine and cheese with Andrea Matinata, along with a few laughs over poor jokes.

"My fortune is not as _vast_ as she believes it to be," the Count informed his dance instructor. "That is why I am marrying her. Heh, I need the money."

"But what about all that the Matheids own," Andrea asked while casually swirling her wineglass.

"Ah, the mines collapsed years ago," he confessed. "Killed many husbands and sons here in Geffen. It was unfortunate. But we have many poachers on our payroll still who head north to harvest fashionable appendages from the animals there. Furs, horns, scales... Even eyes and stingers have become part of a fashion now! As long as we keep peasants well clothed, we ourselves will never have to stoop to their level."

"And once you secure Madame Demau's fortune, you will remain high on the proverbial hog?" Andrea took the wine bottle in hand and offered to pour them both another glass. "I believe such brilliance calls for a toast."

The Count smiled cleverly to her, and his smile increased as she sipped sensually from his glass. "To brilliance," he announced as he raised his glass high, then sipped the wine for himself. "Tell me, my dear. Do you plan to attend our wedding?"

"Why yes, Count Matheid. My brother and I revel in seeing our finished product in motion."

"Excellent. All other members of my family are away on business, and I would enjoy having a familiar face." The dance instructor's familiar face began to fade from the Count's view, however, as a strange feeling of fatigue came over him. Count Matheid slipped from his chair and to the floor, unable to hear the soft questions of concern coming from Andrea's lips.

"Too much wine, I suppose," Andrea said to herself, then sent for the guards outside of the Count's room. They put the Count to bed, for it was obvious that he was tired, then sent her away with her payment in hand.

* * *

The day of the wedding was a day of celebration within the walls of Al De Baran. Banners hung from every post, and confetti was thrown from every window. In a gondola made of the finest timbers, the bride was paraded around the city's waterways for all to see and admire her beauty. When that was over, she was carried on a sedan chair to the courtyard of her castle, where all of Al De Baran waited for the commencement of the wedding. The castle orchestra played fine wedding music, and Count Matheid waited proudly at the end of a long runway for her to approach him. The ceremony took hours from commencement to completion but once it was finished, everyone knew the real affair would begin.

The reception was by invitation only, and a cavalcade of guards waited at the castle gate to prevent anyone from entering who did not have a proper invitation. Madame Jillian waited as well, watching every man that came in for signs of Victor Matinata. From her throne, she pierced the crowd with her gaze to find him--a few times she thought she did, but found each guess only to be different noblemen from Morroc. After a time, Count Matheid noticed her searching glances and inquired with her about them.

"You seem to be missing someone, my dear. Tell me, and I will send the guards to seek this person out for you."

"I need no guards to do what I can with my own eyes," she said coldly.

"You will have to, for now at least," he replied, then took her by the hand. "For now it is time that you and I dance as we have been instructed to. Come. Let us show the other nobles that we have learned to fly."

His words caught her off guard, and Jillian was easily pulled from her seat to the dance floor. The crowd made plenty of room for the two of them to begin their waltz, but beforehand, the Count raised his goblet to make a toast. "To all of nobility! May we continue to prosper, 'less the entire world be driven into poverty at our downfall."

"To all of nobility," the crowd chanted, then all drank in unison.

"And now," the Count said as he handed off his goblet, "the waltz." The orchestra played as sensually as they did during Jillian's lessons, and gradually she became at ease with the moment. She would have her revenge on Victor Matinata for not attending her soiree, but in the meantime, Count Matheid was a suitable substitute. He danced as smoothly as Matinata, and Jillian indeed felt as though she were flying when they twirled around the ballroom floor. She was so enraptured by their waltz, she did not notice when someone else joined in.

Across the wide circle, a lone woman in a lavender evening gown came twirling from the audience. She went clockwise around the edge of the circle while the newly weds went counter-clockwise. Only when she passed Jillian--and let her hand caress Madame's face--did she gain notice. Jillian was more than offended but could not seem to keep her gaze on the woman long enough to say anything to her. Count Matheid kept her locked in their endless dance despite her sudden protests.

"Stop! Hold on! Who is that woman? How dare she touch--Would you stop for a moment? Guards! Guards! Get that woman out of my ballroom!"

Guards began to march in from the hallway, but stopped short of the entrance as a raven landed in their path. The raven carried a dead branch with it and it quickly snapped it on the ground. Instantly a Ghostring was summoned, and in turn it summoned a horde of Giant Whispers who blanketed the hallway and smothered the guards with their presence.

The presence of the monsters would have been frightening to the nobles, but one by one they were all succumbing to fatigue. While the Count secured Jillian in their dance, everyone else collapsed to the floor--everyone except the woman who had decided to join the waltz. On her next come-around, she joined hands with Count Matheid and locked Jillian between them. Then they continued to dance as if the bride were not there, struggling and demanding an explanation.

"HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME," Jillian screamed. "I'LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU ARE HANGED, COUNT! I'LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU ARE HANGED!"

"You would forgive the Count, perhaps," the woman replied, "if his messenger had arrived in time with note of his ill health." Then she settled her chin on Jillian's left shoulder and looked directly at the Count. "I told you I would have that kiss, Did I not?"

"If that is what you desire, then the moment has been given to you," the Count replied, then to the horror of Madame, he leaned forward and engaged the woman in a long, passionate kiss. While they kissed, the Count took a knife to Jillian's stomach, and the woman took a dagger to Jillian's backside. Madame slipped silently to the floor and the couple danced away from her, leaving bloody footprints in a clockwise formation around the circle. The orchestra had long-since collapsed as well, but the music went on in the couple's minds. When the guards finished dealing with the ghostly invasion, they would find nothing but stillness within the ballroom of the Demau castle. One less Demau would also be found, with hair no longer to entice would-be suitors.

* * *

Deep within the Assassin's stronghold, they knelt before the Council of Three. An attendant took up the hair of Jillian Demau and presented it to the Council for confirmation. "Excellent," was the Council's reply. "Our beseecher will be pleased and our profits will grow. The two of you work quite well together."

"We cooperate as we are ordered to," the Assassins replied in unison.

"As it should be. Shien, a new assignment awaits you. Seek instructions in the next room. ShadowNinja, we will speak to you now on private matters."

She left quickly, and he stayed, rising to his feet to look before the Council of Three. "The two of you indeed work well together," the Council told him, "and that is why you must never see her again."

Their words caught him off guard, but he did not let that show. "What does the Council mean by this," he asked.

"Curb your training in deception, ShadowNinja. You are not dealing with mere peasants, unfamiliar to our ways. You are not even dealing with your fellow Assassin. We are the Council of Three. For every Assassin, there are eyes and ears which tell us even of your most private moments. You have a distraction in that one, and we will not let it be so."

"I am distracted by nothing." His words were laced with insult.

"We have ensured that this is so," the Council stated. "In our world, only the completion of a contract is guaranteed. We sacrifice even our greatest, if it will ensure our greatness in the centuries to come. You are close to increasing our numbers in the ranks of the Assassin Cross. Shien as well. But, a choice must be made. A choice, has been made. You are dismissed."

Without another word, he left the Council's audience. Only the raven joined him on his journey away from the Assassin's stronghold.

* * *

Almost anything was possible within the city of Yuno. Its rules were mere suggestions with loopholes to favor the scientists and nobles who did business there. Many noblemen came there to satisfy their carnal needs, and it seemed this one was no different. For shame or privacy, he kept his body covered in a dark robe and his face hidden by a hood and Mr. Smile mask. He met with a scientist in one of Yuno's many courtyards, then was led to a darker portion of the city, a side few saw without paying some sort of price.

"So it was Count Matheid who recommended us," the scientist asked as they walked through a dark hallway. "Yes, he comes here much himself when he has a need. All of our stock is prime, I assure you. They come from unscrupulous backgrounds, so there is no shame. We like to say that whatever happens, they deserve it in some way."

His guest was more interested in the journey's end than its introduction. "What I am looking for is something fresh," he stated. "Something recent. Nothing used."

"That will be a bit more expensive, but it can be arranged." The scientist chuckled at his own, lecherous thoughts. "After surgery, we like to try and break them in ourselves. But there are a few still being worked on who might be available for... sampling?"

"Once I see what you have to offer, I will decide then." All conversation ended with those few words and the two continued on. Eventually, doors became part of the scenery in the hallway, and behind them came the sounds of moaning in various pitches, and for various reasons. A few twists and turns later, the scientist stopped at the entrance to another hall, where there were fewer doors, and silence to greet them.

"This is where we keep the ones who are unfinished but no longer resistant," he said. "I could open all of their doors right now and not a one of them would escape. Would you like to see them?" His guest gave no reply and slipped past him to wander the hall. The scientist rushed to get ahead of him and open the doors to showcase what was behind them. "Granted, none of them are lively, but you did say you wanted fresh! And they will still serve their purpose, won't they?" He rushed his salespitch, for his guest was not inclined to stop and look in each room. "And, if you like what you see, we can have it specially programmed to your exact desires. A take-home package, if you will?"

At one of the doors, his guest finally took pause. Laying on a wooden slab was a woman with trimmed, purple hair, wearing a crude hospital gown. A good salesman knew when a customer was ready to purchase, and the scientist could see that his guest was quite interested in that particular sale. "You have a fine eye for quality," he said as he slipped past the noble and into the cell. The scientist lifted her chin gently and brushed hair from her face to further reveal her beauty. "It is rare, and I shouldn't be sharing this information with you, but sometimes we receive these as tribute from the Assassin's Guild. They appear to be damaged goods when they come from there, but as you can see, our medical facilities are quite state of the art. And, after a brief mental adjustment, they become as docile as a peasant girl." He pet the woman on her head, then let her drop to the bench once again. "You've caught this one at just the right moment! All we've done is made her a blank slate so far, so if you want we could--"

"Leave us."

The scientist was disappointed in having his well-memorized salespitch interrupted, but he knew what his guest wanted. "Try before you buy, eh?" He laughed as more lecherous thoughts came to mind. "Very well. I'll just go down the hall for a few minutes and check on other merchandise."

They switched places, and the scientist closed the door behind him, taking a momentary peek before leaving them alone as he had promised. Once the guest was certain that he was alone, he approached the woman and knelt before her. Through his mask he looked into her eyes--they were so vacant, he could not find his reflection. "Do you know who I am," he asked her. "Do you even know who you are?" The woman returned his stare, and for a moment, it seemed as though she were coming back to life. She reached out for his mask and gripped its edges, but something reminded her that she was forbidden to remove it from his face. Then her life slipped sadly away once more as she smiled blankly, and let her fingers play on his mask as though it were a stage and they were dancers. Matching scars dimpled her temples where crude instruments had been used to make her this way.

He watched her play, then stood out of her reach. "This is by no means a justified waste. But, now I see the price of personal affair. And now that I see it, I no longer fear it. And without fear, I can do as I please." He pulled his hood from his head as he continued to speak, letting his white hair jut freely outward. "I will grow stronger knowing that my superiors are undeserving of my service. Then, when the hour comes that my superiors are my equal, I will cut them down, one by one, until all that is left is me." Then he looked to her with respect, for he would die before he felt pity. "Those were our plans, were they not? To one day kill alongside each other? Then, let a final treachery decide who would reign? Well." He took a knife from his robe and used it to split her throat. "The decision has been made."

She did not cry out, and she did not flinch as blood poured from her gullet to the cell floor. He lifted her into his arms while her life drained from her, then with one hand, he pulled the mask from his face and kissed her, tasting the blood that spilled past her lips. "Wear this mask for me, Shien," he said as he slipped the Mr. Smile mask over her face. Then he took a Grinning Goblin mask from his robe and placed it over his own countenance. Just as his ritual ended, the door of the cell opened to the scientist, who hoped to catch them in the middle of a different moment.

"What the Hell?" The scientist stared at the pool of blood and the back of his guest. "Hey! You break it you buy it," he demanded.

"Tell me," the man asked quietly. "Did you have a hand in lobotomizing this girl?"

"Did I?" The scientist was insulted at not having his work recognized. "I am chief lobotomizer of this facility! I have a hand in all lobotomies. Hers was one of my most recent works of art."

"Good. Then you can be the first to die in her name." His guest spun the woman once, and before she could fall, he turned and dug deep into the scientist's belly with his knife. A jagged edge of the knife brought the scientist's entrails out with it as his guest spun in time to catch the woman with one arm. He took her legs over his other arm and let shredded entrails drag behind him as he left out of the cell. He would have dragged the scientist too, had he not disappeared and left no trace of himself to do so.

Deep within uncharted forest, where the streams poured past tall cliffs, a pyre burned and lit up the night sky. Two bodies burned within it--one was hers, the other, the spy that he had found to be watching over him. The raven preached in its own language at their private funeral, then the pyre's remains were cast to the water to be lost at sea. He would never return to his place of solace. From then on, he had no reason to.


End file.
